


Snack

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/F, F/M, Ficlet, Mirror Universe, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-14
Updated: 2013-12-14
Packaged: 2018-01-04 14:24:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1082067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Janeway plays with one of her favourite toys while the other proverbially pouts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snack

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The hitch in her breath covers the sound of the opening door. Kathryn’s eyes slide over to where Seven’s strolling in, the click of her heals steady against the carpet. The eager tongue between Kathryn’s legs doesn’t slow—Tuvok’s unshakeable. Kathryn shifts her hands to slide over the back of his head, just in case, fingers tight against the short, black strands. She pets him while he works, and she lifts an eyebrow at the approaching blonde. 

“Your coffee, Captain,” Seven says curtly. She stops right before the couch. She extends one arm, holding the sleek mug forward, posture rigid. She keeps her eyes fixedly on Kathryn, though Tuvok’s hard to miss. 

Today he’s stripped down to nothing: a gorgeous sight. He’s kneeling between Kathryn’s knees like a dog, collared and with the leash trailing down his back. Kathryn particularly likes the way his dark skin looks beneath her milky fingers and the way his muscles flex beneath that when he moves. He’s a pretty thing, really, once she trained him right. It would be a shame to cover him up. 

Seven doesn’t seem to agree, or perhaps she’s just jealous. She always is when Kathryn enjoys other members of the crew, and Kathryn warns as she takes her mug, “Captains are allowed to have more than one favourite, Seven.”

Seven lifts an eyebrow but doesn’t comment. If her expression reveals anymore, Kathryn’s missed it—Tuvok’s suddenly surged forward, that thick tongue of his plunging inexplicably deeper. Kathryn’s eyes shut, lips parting. He’s good, very good. The way he laps and probes at her inner walls is nothing short of expert. For all their talk of logic and dignity, Kathryn’s always found Vulcans to make particularly good lovers when it comes down to it. Tuvok’s had plenty of time to analyze her body, and he knows just how to play it. His mouth sucks at her lips while his tongue works, his fingers gently stroking the insides of her thighs. Her black skirt is wrinkled up around her waist—some days, there just isn’t any point wearing pants. 

Seven’s never allowed pants. She hasn’t been allowed much since Kathryn took an interest in her, and today her miniskirt is the only thing on her. Kathryn knows from seeing it that Seven tries to cover her breasts when she’s in public, but there’s no point doing that in front of her captain. Like Tuvok’s chocolate skin, Seven’s heavy breasts would be such a shame to cover up, ripe and perky as they are, with sweet little rosy nipples, always at hard nubs in the cold. Kathryn takes a sip of her coffee and leans her head back against the couch, petting Tuvok encouragingly. Sometimes his mouth is the only thing better than a fresh cup of coffee. 

She’s getting close, she can tell, especially with the bitter taste of her favourite drink on her tongue, but when she opens her eyes again after a languid moan, Seven’s still standing there. Sighing, Kathryn reaches out to slip one finger under the hem of Seven’s skirt, tugging her closer by it. That way Kathryn can play with Seven’s breasts while she drawls, “Was there something else, pet?”

Other than a slight hesitation, Seven shows no sign that her nipples are being alternately pinched and played with, her breasts squeezed one at a time. Her posture is rigid, her eyes only for Kathryn’s face. “I just thought perhaps... you might like a more.. _experienced_ mouth to pleasure you, Captain.” Impertinent, her two favourites. 

Kathryn snorts. She drops her hand back down to Tuvok; he hasn’t faltered once—what a good boy. That’s the trouble with coffee; it takes up one of her hands. Another sip. “Spent a lot of time pleasuring the Borg Queen, did you?”

Seven lifts another delicate eyebrow. She clearly doesn’t take it for the joke it is, but she moves briskly on and insists, “I fail to see how a man could know more about pleasuring women than another woman could.”

Another snort. Kathryn shakes her head, rolling it back, and she arches suddenly as Tuvok’s tongue pulls shallower to lap at her clit. She has to bite her bottom lip to contain the moan, and her grip on her coffee tightens. When she looks down at him through her lashes, he’s looking back up at her, intense and husky. She’s surprised he isn’t growling; he can be very territorial with her. Perhaps he simply knows that Kathryn switching toys now wouldn’t be _logical_ , not when Tuvok’s doing such an exquisite job. 

But in a way, Kathryn does feel sorry for Seven. She was so sheltered for so long—all the downsides of ownership with none of the perks, like the honour of eating out a woman like Kathryn Janeway. Simply to prove her point and to clear the room so she can finish her man and her coffee in peace, Kathryn waves her hand and declares, “Go find Ensign Kim and have him pleasure you. Tell him I ordered it; you play captain. Then come tell me men have no place at my feet.”

Though Kathryn expects an argument, Seven says haughtily, “I will.” She turns abruptly on the spot and stalks back towards the door. Tuvok makes a snarling sort of noise and attacks Kathryn’s slit with new passion: perhaps his version of ‘good riddance.’ It throws Kathryn’s momentary regret at sharing Seven out the window—and besides, it’s not like half the crew isn’t taking a go at Kim every time he steps off the bridge anyway. So it’s not like Kathryn’s sharing with a _person_. Underlings are of little use, and right now the one she prefers to focus on is that one that she spent years breaking down and training, the only one she’s ever really had even a modicum of respect for. 

Leaning into her so hard that his nose is rubbing into her skin and his teeth are scraping her outer lips, Tuvok lapses into a heavy tirade of fucking her with his tongue. He has something to prove now, and Kathryn lets him do so with a barely concealed moan. The coffee’s clutched tight in her hand, nearly forgotten. The door clicks shut behind a lingering Seven. 

Barely a minute later, Kathryn finishes in Tuvok’s mouth with a blissful groan. Her hips jerk wildly into him, her hand holding him in place. She doesn’t apologize, and she fucks his face until he’s drunk up every last bit of the sticky juice she has to offer. He laps away at her even after it’s all gone, cleaning all his mess. 

He’s a good boy, even if he is stubborn and protective and sometimes a pain. She holds down her coffee mug for a reward, letting him drink. 

That way when she pulls him up for a kiss, he tastes mostly like coffee. He kisses back until she pulls away, and then he sits obediently still, even stays on the floor while she stands. She holds his leash and her mug and straightens her skirt. She’s about to head for her desk when he asks her retreating back, “Was I satisfactory, Captain?”

Staying turned so he can’t see her smirk, Kathryn says coolly, “No better than Seven.”

No sense killing a good competition. She strolls to her desk, feeling pleasantly light-headed, and she tells her former first officer, “Get me some more coffee.”


End file.
